


Dark

by Ghostmonument



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 3 episodes in to the season, Angst, F/F, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I was so in love with 13 that I wrote this, Multi, Whump, and moderate injury descriptions, and the only thing that has changed is that I love her even MORE, because......, it's non-graphic, my very first fic ever, oh yeah did I mention it ends with kissing?, this is super indulgent but I regret nothing, tw for off-screen reference to physical assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 11:59:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18916549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostmonument/pseuds/Ghostmonument
Summary: Built around the writing prompt "who did this to you?"A cultural misunderstanding on an alien planet leads to violence. The Doctor startles everyone when she accesses a touch of the Oncoming Storm in response, but more startling to you is her reaction afterwards as you begin to heal.





	1. Dusk

**Author's Note:**

> This actually marked my first foray into fic writing! I had never been particularly interested in fanfic before and even worse, looked down my nose at character x reader fics. What a snob! Then the 13th Doctor drop-kicked her way into my life and the rest is history. I wrote about 8000 words over the course of one feverish week, using it as a coping mechanism for the recent loss of my two childhood cats (as well as my burgeoning bi-awakening which as I said, kicked my doors down and rocked my life). I was particularly inspired by the works of Keeleywrites, so you have her to thank for this. Or to blame, if you hate it. ur the best keeley muah 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!! My requests are open, and you can most easily reach me via my tumblr: myghostmonument
> 
> -Jenny

                                                                    

* * *

  
  
“What happened- who did that to you?”

There hadn’t been any anger in the question, not initially. Anger didn’t come quickly to the Doctor (not to this one, not this new, bright and optimistic version) and certainly not as a first response. Curiosity, surprise, and perhaps stubborn denial, those were common fallbacks for her, and all three of them were present in the words she fired at you and Ryan as you two rounded the corner and limped into view.

“Oh my god, what happened?” Yaz echoed the Doctor, looking between you and Ryan. Ryan just shook his head, out of breath and looking quickly over his shoulder.

“We gotta go,” he said in a low, urgent voice.

“Hey? But we only just got here-” Graham, walking up with an assortment of exotic foods in his arms, stopped mid sentence, eyes flicking between you and Ryan. “Ryan?” He stepped quickly towards his grandson, aware immediately that something was wrong. Yaz had moved to you, and was hunched down, trying to get a good look at your face, which you kept averted. You weren’t sure _why,_ it was __Yaz_ , _and the rest of Team TARDIS, after all. But your emotions were still turbulent, scraped raw and layered thinly over with a coating of shock, and you just felt like hiding, curling up and vanishing and not thinking about what had happened, just not… not __thinking.__

The Doctor had been looking between you and Ryan, frozen in some sort of confused indecision, her mind whirring away behind those bright, clever eyes. Then Yaz looked over at her, and whatever the Doctor read on her face made her step towards you, made that telltale crease appear by her left eyebrow. You flicked a glance at her, but you were too raw for the intensity of her regard, and the undefined, sick feeling in your gut that you’d somehow failed, somehow let the team down. You looked away quickly, head ducked, and when familiar brown boots entered your field of vision, you closed your eyes.

Slender fingers touched your chin, and despite your shame, despite your pain, you couldn’t deny them. Couldn’t deny _her._ You opened your eyes as the Doctor lifted your face, and though her touch was gentle, the change that her expression underwent was anything but. Apprehensive curiosity shifted into shock, and was quickly eclipsed by fury. Her lips pressed tightly together, the Doctor moved your face back and forth, her now blazing eyes sweeping from your bruised, bloodshot eye down to your split lip. Behind her, you heard Graham hiss in a shocked breath, and you closed your eyes again, swaying. Yaz had made a small, stifled sound of mingled outrage and concern, and put an arm around you.

“Who did this to you,” the Doctor repeated, and now there _was_ danger in her voice. You took in a ragged breath; you were too raw, too raw. The Doctor dropped her hold on your face and rounded on Ryan instead, coat flapping in the wind as she strode up to him, asked if he was hurt too. He shook his head, looking again over his shoulder. The absence of the Doctor’s touch left a sudden vacuum for you, and you started to shake. Her intensity had been too much, but without it you were left coldly adrift, reeling and unraveling as the adrenaline began to wear off.

“We should really go,” Ryan repeated.

“Sounds good,” Graham agreed, eyes on you and Yaz. “You can fill us in on the way. Right, Doc?” The Doctor made a low, dangerous sound, and you could feel her eyes on you again. Yaz’s arm on you tightened, gently propelling you forwards, and you began the walk back to the TARDIS, to safety. _Home_.

Distantly, you could hear the Doctor ahead of you as she dragged the story out of Ryan. How you two had gone exploring the alien city, the aliens so similar in appearance to humans but with such a vastly different culture and landscape, different technology. How everything had been bright, and exciting, and fun, until it hadn’t. How you had seen a child, crying, and approached them, knelt next to them and offered them food you’d purchased earlier. How suddenly a man had appeared, had started yelling and accusing you of interfering with his _property_. Had tried to grab the crying child, and when you blocked him, had knocked you down. And again, when you tried to get up. Had used his booted foot. Had gotten in Ryan’s face as he got between you and the man, had told Ryan to control you before storming off, child in tow. How the mood in the city had changed, how people had begun to stare at you. Watch you. _Follow_ you.

Graham and Yaz were making suitably outraged, shocked noises as Ryan angrily recounted the tale, but the Doctor was silent. You could feel her anger, however, could almost _hear_ it in the shape of her uncharacteristic silence. You wanted to say something, try and explain or apologize or make up for how thoroughly the trip had been ruined, but your thoughts were starting to slide in and out of your grasp and it was all you could do to keep walking. Were you still walking? You couldn’t always feel your feet, or Yaz’s arm.

“Uh, Doctor,” Yaz said, maybe. You weren’t sure. The world was tilting, darkening. Yaz’s arm was suddenly the only thing you could feel, an anchor as you sagged. Another presence loomed in front of you, and you caught the familiar scent of vanilla and TARDIS, felt the brush of a long coat hitting your legs, and you knew it was _her_ , knew she was scanning your face, though you couldn’t focus on her. On anything, really.

“What’s wrong with her Doc?” Graham asked, distantly.

“Don’t know,” the Doctor replied tersely, and her voice was a beacon, something that you could focus on, cling to in defiance to the darkness. “Concussion, maybe. Head injuries are tricky.” Anger still commanded control of her voice, but worry threaded audibly through it now, too. Her hand touched your cheek, the unbruised side, and her careful touch was a brand, a blaze of sensation in a rapidly dwindling reality. “Hey, you need to stay with us,” the Doctor said. “You need to keep walking, okay?” You tried to focus on her, on those eyes that shone like so many stars.

“I’m- I’m sorry,” you tried to say. It hurt to move your lips, to speak, but you wanted them to know you were sorry you’d caused this, ruined their trip.

“Don’t talk, just walk,” the Doctor said shortly, moving to your other side and joining her arm with Yaz’s. Anger was still clipping her words, and you weren’t able to see the concern in her eyes as she looked at you. Time passed strangely; at times you were hyperaware of Yaz and the Doctor’s hands on you, of the tense conversation filtering through the group. Other times you drifted, felt reality loosen and warp around you and would lose several minutes of time in one jagged lurch.

One of those times, your legs gave out, and Yaz wasn’t quick enough to catch you. The Doctor was, but suddenly her grip on your arm sent a splintering web of agony through you and you cried out weakly, almost breathless with the pain as red curled around the edges of your vision. The Doctor said something under her breath, lowering you to the ground.

“Hold her,” the Doctor said, and someone -Yaz- propped you up as the Doctor ran her hands carefully down your arm, then shoulder, and then side. You hissed out a breath in another flare of agony. “Ah,” the Doctor said grimly, and lifted the edge of your shirt. Ryan swore quietly at whatever was revealed, and the Doctor made another one of her low, dangerous sounds.

“Broken?” Graham asked, after a tense moment. You felt the Doctor’s hand rest lightly on your side, and even that careful touch was enough to wring another stifled cry from you, though you clenched your teeth around it (that hurt, too.)

“Maybe,” the Doctor said, having withdrawn her hand. There was a rustle, then the familiar buzzing of her sonic as she ran it up and down your torso. A pause, as she deciphered the information. “Cracked. Some bleeding,” she reported. Her voice was very quiet, and all the more terrible for it. She stood up violently, rounding on Ryan. “How could you let this happen?” Her voice was still quiet, still terrible in its fury. Ryan blinked, looked away.

“Hold on, Doc, that’s not right,” Graham intervened angrily, stepping forwards. “He saved her, sounds like! You ought to be thanking him, not blaming him!” The Doctor made a savage sound and whirled away from them, fists clenched and eyes closed.

“She knows,” Yaz said quietly to Graham.

“Well, she shouldn’t be having a go at him then-”

“She _knows_ ,” Yaz interrupted, firmly but not unkindly. “But we need to keep moving, and I don’t think you’re supposed to walk with cracked ribs…”

“On it,” Ryan said, sounding grateful for the chance to do something helpful. He darted a wary look at the Doctor, but though she had turned around, she was watching without comment, her face set, hands still clenched.

“Careful,” Yaz and Graham said together, unnecessarily, as Ryan gently picked you up. It still hurt, in about a dozen different ways, and your breathing hitched brokenly around another involuntary cry.

“Sorry, sorry,” Ryan said, agonized but determined. The Doctor’s face had flickered at your cry, then she was striding forwards again, towards the TARDIS with quick, violent steps. Yaz, Graham and Ryan exchanged unhappy looks and followed, and you finally, mercifully blacked out.

You awoke to breath-taking agony, muddled thoughts, and shouting. A _lot_ of shouting. Ryan was still holding you, but not gently- his arms were tight, and he was moving around, almost stumbling. You tried to lift your head, tried to see what was going on. There were a lot of people- too many for just Team TARDIS. _The aliens had caught up with you._ Alarm shot through your system like a drug, lending you sudden, respective clarity.

“Hey bro, back off, _back off_ -” Ryan was saying. In the distance you thought you could make out Yaz and the Doctor’s voices too.

“Step back, come on now, Ryan, go, get inside-” that was Graham. Ryan turned, and your vision was suddenly filled with the most welcome, glorious blue. The TARDIS. You were almost there, you were almost safe- and then something hit Ryan, hard. Graham yelled a warning, but it was too late. Ryan stumbled, and dropped you, and the world exploded in a red haze. Time and space fragmented around you, splinters of sound and sensation. You thought maybe you were dead. You tried to lift your head, tried to breathe.

“DOCTOR,” someone screamed.

A face loomed. It was not the Doctor’s, and in that expanding, crystalline moment you knew, horribly, that you were not dead.

“Got you, you filthy human,” it said. You stared back blankly, almost numb with horror and pain as he- the man from before, the one who’d attacked you and Ryan, _it was him and you were alone_ \- seized your arm, jerked you towards him. The pain that ripped through you didn’t even leave you enough breath to scream, but you tried to resist, tried to lean away, to do anything, but he had your arm and was pulling you in, and you couldn’t- _you couldn’t even scream-_

A swirl of lilac-grey fabric and brown boots appeared in your vision, and the hold on your arm was released as the Doctor shoved her way bodily between you and the man. She was much smaller than him, but it was he who staggered backwards from the aggressive contact. The Doctor was a pillar, boots planted firmly with one slightly in front of the other, ready to pivot at a moment’s notice.

She was so close to you that the edge of her coat brushed your side, and one of her hands was dropped towards you, fingers splayed protectively. You knew instinctively that the other hand gripped the sonic. It wasn’t a weapon, not in the conventional sense, but it still had a cautionary effect on most beings. As it should. The TARDIS, so frustratingly close, gave a sudden and booming toll, a sound _felt_ as much as heard. There was a moment of shocked, ringing silence. The Doctor swept her blazing eyes across the frozen assembly.

“Yaz, Graham, get her inside,” she ordered.

“But-” Graham began, wary eyes on the crowd of alien men around the Doctor, “Doc-”

“Now,” the Doctor said, her eyes fixing on the man she had pushed away from you. “Ryan, with me.” Ryan’s legs joined the Doctor’s in your hazy field of vision. You tried to speak, tried to say the Doctor’s name, but your vision was darkening and you still couldn’t catch you breath, and Yaz’s hands were suddenly on you, you could hear her voice but it was muffled, fading in and out- and then you were unconscious again. Yaz carried you into the TARDIS, flanked by Graham. The Doctor didn’t move, didn’t look away. The TARDIS door clicked shut.

Yaz carried you to the TARDIS medical bay, and stayed with you while Graham loitered nervously at the console, watching the screen and ready to rush out and help Ryan and the Doctor if things went badly. You wouldn’t find out for several days what had gone down outside the TARDIS, the Doctor and Ryan facing a dozen angry aliens.

Ryan would tell you and Yaz later, in tones of hushed awe, how the Doctor had asked the group how they dared to hurt her friends, how she had listened to a dozen different mumbling replies while her dark eyes had never left the first man, the one who had hurt you.

How she had waited quietly until _he_ spoke, until he dared to open his mouth and justify what he did. ‘This one?’ she had asked Ryan, without turning her head. ‘Was it him?’ How when Ryan had nodded, she had then shouldered her way into his space, nose to nose, and how she had followed him when he tried to step away, a clear predator for all that she was more than half a foot shorter and armed with a screwdriver.

The Doctor had stalked him until he fetched up against a tree, and then she had leaned in, said something too quietly for Ryan to hear. ‘I wish I knew what she said, man,’ Ryan told you and Yaz, shaking his head. ‘He went so pale, I thought he might faint- I mean, he was sweating.’

He went on to say how the Doctor had stepped away, so that she could regard the entire group again. ‘You are not the best you can be; you are _so- much- less,’_ she had said, and though the words had been mild, the tone had been so devastatingly furious that it had swept through the semi-circle like the swing of a weapon, sending the aliens away into the gathering night. The Doctor had not waited to watch; she had merely turned her back, and strode to the TARDIS. They had been dismissed; they were prey, not worthy of a predator’s attention.

‘Absolutely mad,’ Ryan had said, rubbing his face. ‘Never seen her lose it like that before. Scary, almost.’

But all that had come later, when you were up and moving about the TARDIS again, when some of the horror had faded and everyone was starting to itch for the next adventure…


	2. Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having survived the hostile aliens, you awake in the TARDIS confused, in pain, and worst of all, alone. So, naturally, you do what the Doctor’s companions do best and rush off and get yourself into some trouble.

                                                       

* * *

  
The TARDIS medical bay was well stocked with a wide variety of medicines and tech, spanning many worlds and times; if there was any place in the universe to end up injured, well… okay it probably wasn’t _the_ best choice, but it was a good one all the same. You had woken in it some hours later, to Yaz sitting by your head, exhausted bags under her drooping eyes while the Doctor stood leaning over a display, reading the information. She looked tired, too; she wasn’t wearing her coat, and her sleeves were bunched up around her elbows, hair a wavy mess.

You didn’t truly register these things however, because the first thing you did was remember that there was _danger, there were aliens trying to hurt you and the others, move_ and you sat up so quickly that you almost fell off the table, gasping in a deep, shuddering breath. The Doctor’s head snapped up.

“Oh- _grab her,_ Yaz-” the Doctor’s hands landed on you a heartbeat after Yaz’s, who tired or not still had the instincts of a policeman drilled into her. Your vision flickered and awareness of a dulled but very present pain crept up your torso, but even so you struggled, fought them (or if not them, then their hands, the things keeping you from moving, from getting your back in a corner and assessing the threat, _you had to move, danger-_ )

“Hey, hey, it’s me, look at me, you’re okay,” the Doctor was saying. You met her eyes wildly, your heart rabbiting painfully in your chest.

“Doctor- Doctor? I- I’m sorry, we have to- they’re going to- _Ryan_ -” you were shivering, twisting under the Yaz and the Doctor’s restraining hands, not realizing what they were, only that you were being kept from moving, kept from escaping, didn’t they understand that there was _danger_ -

“He’s fine, he’s in the library with Graham, everything’s okay, you need to calm down,” the Doctor said soothingly, still keeping you on the table. She met Yaz’s eyes and mouthed “sedative”, nodding towards it. Yaz moved away, but you barely noticed, eyes still wide, still trying to get up, to move. _“Look at me,”_ the Doctor said again, hands firm on your shoulders as you again tried to get off the table, again and again and again- “Hey, look at me,” and for a moment your eyes swung to hers again, fixed desperately on the Doctor’s. “Now,” she added quickly over your head, and you felt a small prick on your neck. The Doctor pushed you, gently, and you found you couldn’t resist, that you were falling backwards, away from her and Yaz, and that darkness was waiting for you at the other end.

“Not- alone,” you slurred. _“Please-”_ your hands twitched as you fought the drugs, fought to get up, get away.

“You won’t be alone,” Yaz’s voice said, from a great distance. “Right, Doctor?” You felt someone’s hand close on your own, folding your fingers into a warm, familiar grip.

_“Right,”_ you heard the Doctor say in a low, almost ragged voice. There was a world of promise in the terse word, corroborated by the following squeeze on your hand, and finally you let the darkness take you. Quiet re-established itself uneasily in the medbay.

“She’s going to be okay,” Yaz said eventually, breaking the fragile silence.The Doctor didn’t look up at her right away, head bowed, hair concealing her face. It wasn’t until she finally did look up that Yaz could see that the Doctor had been staring at the hand linked with yours, at the faint bruises ringing your bared arm where the alien had grabbed you.

“Yes,” the Doctor said again, and Yaz knew that the briskness of her tone was a veneer. “Yes, she is.” Carefully the Doctor lifted your hand, set it next to your side and let go. Her fingers brushed over the web of bruises, then she was up, moving away, restless. Yaz watched wearily as she paced around the medbay, fingers clenching and unclenching. She knew the Doctor was teetering on the edge of decision, and was thus was unsurprised with the Doctor suddenly whirled, pointing at her. “You. Get some rest. You look terrible.”

“Oh, thanks,” Yaz said acerbically, but the Doctor had already turned away, was already moving towards the door. “Wait- we can’t just leave her,” Yaz protested, but the Doctor was flapping a hand at her. _“Doctor-”_

“Of course we’re not leaving her alone, I’ll send Ryan and Graham in,” the Doctor said. “They can take over for you for a bit.”

“What about you?” Yaz asked, before she could stop herself. “You aren’t staying?” There was a faint challenge buried in the mild words, and she knew the Doctor heard it, could read the knowledge of it in the Doctor’s expression as she hesitated, not meeting Yaz’s eyes.

“I- I need to find us a safe place to land, stabilize the TARDIS. We’re just drifting, right now. Not advisable. Very _un_ -advisable.” Yaz just raised her brows, letting the gesture speak for her. The Doctor hesitated a moment longer, then made a huffing sound and swept away. “Rest,” she hollered back at Yaz, who rolled her eyes.

“Coward,” she muttered. But when Graham and Ryan appeared on the Doctor’s orders, Yaz did as she’d been told and sought out her small room, falling asleep almost instantly.

Hours passed, with Yaz, Graham and Ryan moving in and out of the medbay, taking turns at your side. And yet.

_And yet._

When you awoke again, you were alone. Graham had just stepped out briefly and was indeed on his way back, having taken over from Yaz and Ryan- but you didn’t know that. You didn’t know anything, really, except that you were in a strange room, you hurt, and _you were alone._

“Doctor?” you asked the empty room, not sure why, only that it was the first word on your mind. Various machines in the room hummed quietly, your only reply. You pushed yourself up, swept your eyes over the room, uncomprehending. You could almost… you could almost remember something, could almost feel the looming shadow of it in your mind, but every time you tried to order your thoughts, they dissipated like water on a beach. Confusion and a growing awareness of pain were the only thing left in their wake, with you clinging to the bobbing flotsam left to you and trying not to drown of it.

Your face was sore, as was your side, and when you jerkily moved a hand to touch your ribs, there was a sudden moment of tension, a resisting tug, and then a crash as you yanked over an iv bag, which in turn knocked down a tray of tools. You had been starting to tilt your head, trying to focus your eyes on the iv line, but the crash drove all reason from your mind, and you jumped violently at the sound as adrenaline roared through your drugged, groggy system. _Danger!_

You tried to leap up, and ended up half-falling from the medbay table, landing painfully on your hands and knees. The pain in your side stirred, turning over and unsheathing its claws. You clenched your teeth, pushed yourself to your feet, staggered heavily against the wall. _Danger, danger,_ the warning kept thrumming through your body, and it propelled you out of the medbay, into the TARDIS corridor. TARDIS? You were on the TARDIS? Again, memories shifted in you, tried to assert themselves, failed. Adrenaline was flushing the effects of the drugs from your mind, and allowed you to focus on a single goal: _find the Doctor._ It was a simple plan, but historically, a solid one.

In the medbay, Graham was standing in the threshold, a cup of tea in his hands, eyes resting on the empty table.

“Oh, no,” he said weakly. Yaz poked her head around the corner, took in the situation.

“The Doctor’s going to kill you,” she said, flatly. “ _I_ might kill you. Come on!” They hurried back into the hall and split up. They couldn’t search silently, however, and by the time they’d circled around the main loop and met back up at the medbay, they’d attracted Ryan.

“She must be in a side corridor,” he said, sounding nervous. Side corridors could be dangerous.

“Are you sure she’s not still in the medbay? She might be hiding,” Yaz offered desperately, stepping quickly into the room and doing a more thorough scan of it. “Empty,” she confirmed a moment later, biting her lip.

“Right, okay, maybe we should tell the Doctor now,” Ryan said, still sounding nervous.

“Tell me what?”

All three of the companions froze, then shared a singular look of guilty trepidation before turning, as one, to face the Doctor who raised her eyebrows in bemusement, eyes moving between them.

“Honestly you lot, what are you…” she trailed off, her gaze having settled on the doorway to the medbay. “Oh, you didn’t, _tell me_ you didn’t.” She moved swiftly inside, stopped at the empty table. Her head moved, taking in the spilled tray, and she rested her hand lightly on the discarded iv bag. Lightly, but with knuckles that flared white.

“How long?” she asked, not turning around. Something in her voice gave the companions pause, and another nervous look was shared.

“Couldn’t… couldn’t have been gone ten minutes,” Graham whispered miserably.

“We’ve been looking for about the same,” Yaz added. “Come on, we’ll spread out again-” but she broke off as the Doctor brushed past her, fishing her sonic out of her coat and holding it up. The device emitted its familiar whirr while the Doctor slowly pivoted on the spot, eyes closed.

“Come on, come _on,_ where is she,” she muttered, then, “ _yes!_ Gotcha!” and then she was gone, darting down the corridor with the sonic held in front of her. Yaz, Ryan and Graham shared a startled look, then hastened to follow.

You, meanwhile, were thoroughly lost. Were you going in circles? You couldn’t tell. Alarm was still beating a rhythm in your blood, but it was fading slowly in the face of the rising pain in your side. You stumbled for what felt like the hundredth time, clipping the wall and only just catching yourself. You leaned there for a moment, wrapping a hand protectively around your side. You were shivering, and it eventually occurred to you that you weren’t wearing much in the way of clothing, just the light summer outfit from… from earlier…you tried to grab at the memory, and it evaded you. But you knew hadn’t been cold in the medbay… _the medbay_. You shook your head, squinting down the corridor. You were on the TARDIS, had been in the medbay… that meant… you were safe?

Footsteps pounding down an adjacent corridor made you freeze, one hand still braced against the gently humming wall of the TARDIS. A figure suddenly skidded out of a doorway with all of the subtlety and grace of a miniature tornado (where had that hall even come from? You were sure it hadn’t been there a moment ago-) and you made a stifled, involuntary sound, tried to back away. But you were already against a wall, and tripped awkwardly, even as the figure turned to you.

Arms caught you just before you hit the floor, closed firmly around you, followed you down as your shaking legs gave out. You struggled for a moment, tried to push the hands away, but-

“It’s me, _it’s me,_ it’s okay, you’re okay-”

You recognized that voice. Recognized its lilting, accented words. Recognized the lilac-grey fabric that was suddenly filling your vision, recognized the subtle scents of vanilla and machinery.

“Doctor,” you breathed, almost a sob, and the word was a release. You slumped in her arms, let your head fall against her shoulder. She was talking again, sounding equal parts relieved and angry now that you’d stopped fighting her, and you didn’t immediately have the energy to interrupt her flow.

“-think you’re doing, running around like that? The TARDIS is not a, a public _garden_ , it is infinite and dangerous and _utterly_ unsafe for injured, stubborn humans- you could have been lost, could have bled out, did you think that being put up in the medbay was a _suggested_ course of action-” she kept on furiously in that vein, but her head was bent over yours so closely that her hair was brushing your face, and her free hand (the one not still wrapped around you, holding you to her) was softly and urgently touching you, running down your arm, ghosting over the pain in your side.

You were still shivering, but had allowed your eyes to close. Because even when she was angry (or what you still thought of as angry, because Ryan hadn’t told you yet how the Doctor had faced down those twelve men with just her sonic, how only her carefully cultivated ideals had kept the storm at bay), even calling you foolish in so many words, the presence of the Doctor had stilled something in you, softened an edge you hadn’t realized was hurting. So you let her scold, and you drifted for a time.

Your head jerked up again when more footsteps thundered down the corridor, and though she was still energetically expounding upon your various mistakes, the Doctor immediately tightened her embrace, slipped in a murmured _‘it’s just the rest of the gang, it’s okay, it’s fine,’_ before resuming her complete and total condemnation of your actions. You could see blearily over the Doctor’s shoulder as Yaz made a sympathetic face, and heard Ryan give a low whistle.

“Ease up there Doc,” Graham’s voice said, and you felt the Doctor shift a little bit, knew that she was looking up at him. “You’re being pretty harsh on her, seeing as she’s hurt. You don’t need to go on about it-”

“I _will_ go on about it, and don’t think you’re not next, _Graham,_ ” the Doctor said, dangerously. She sounded like she meant it too, but the full visualization of the spectacle was apparently lost on you because you distinctly heard Yaz and Ryan stifle snorts of laughter.

“Is he hurt?” you asked, worried, trying to lift your head, only to have the Doctor’s hand move, press your head down against her shoulder again.

“Hush,” said the Doctor, darkly.

“No,” said Graham, tragically.

“Not _yet,_ ” said Yaz, dryly.

This elicited another snort of laughter from Ryan. You felt the Doctor move again, look at him, and he fell abruptly silent, clearing his throat.

“She’s shaking,” Yaz said suddenly. “Cold, or- shock?”

“ ‘m fine,” you interjected quickly. You _were_ cold, but you felt safe and comfortable for the first time in way too long, and didn’t want to move. Didn’t want the Doctor to vanish again, didn’t want to wake up hurting and _alone_ again. But the Doctor was moving you, lifting your head off her shoulder so she could rest a hand against your forehead, then peer into your eyes.

“ ‘m _fine,_ ” you said again, as firmly as you could. You tried to focus on her eyes, thinking absently that they were somehow the only real thing in the room, and that if you moved too fast, you might fall into them. It didn’t seem like such a bad thing, falling into those eyes. As you watched those beautiful eyes and considered this, they narrowed, and that telltale crease reappeared over her left brow.

“Oh funny, you thinking you get to decide,” she remarked, still sounding very annoyed, and you tried to scrunch up your nose at her. It hurt, however, and you ended up wincing instead. She hummed at that, a low sound you could _feel_ through her chest against yours, and then touched your face lightly while something dark stirred in the depths of her still narrowed eyes. “Right, she’s freezing, let’s get her back,” she said, still not looking away from you, eyes now tracking the marbled print of your bruises, over and over. The darkness stirred again.

“I can get a blanket?” Yaz asked, the words half a question, but she trailed off. The Doctor was flapping an arm at her, and after a moment Yaz bent down, helped as the Doctor shrugged out of her coat. She and Yaz then wrapped it around you, threading one arm through the sleeve but not the other, not the sore side. It was very warm, and smelled like the Doctor, and was altogether more comforting than you wanted to admit.

“Hold her for a mo-” the Doctor was saying, and suddenly Yaz was supporting your shoulders and the Doctor was gone, her arms withdrawn and her face no longer resting close to yours, filling your vision with eyes like stars and curling blond hair, and it was a horrible, yawning chasm where she had been. You leaned forwards instinctively, pulling away from Yaz and struggling to get up, to not be left behind.

“Don’t- I’m sorry- don’t go, I’m- I’m sorry don’t leave me alone-” you were babbling, you _knew_ you were babbling, but you were so tired, and had felt so content and now she was _gone again_ \- And then she was there, crouching down in front of you, an unmistakable riot of colour even in the dim light of the corridor.

“No one’s leaving you alone, believe me we’re not making _that_ mistake again,” she said, but her voice was gentler than before. “Help me, Yaz.” You felt Yaz move, and the Doctor leaned forwards, all sweet scents and bright clothes and star-flecked eyes, and then she was standing, standing with you held carefully in her arms. It hurt, and despite yourself you made a quiet sound. “I know, I’m sorry,” she murmured, turning around.

“Get out,” Ryan said, sounding impressed.

“Oh, yeah, time travel and new planets, that’s whatever, but _now_ you’re impressed,” the Doctor complained, but even you could hear the trace of satisfaction in her voice. She started to walk.

“Don’t want to go back there,” you blurted, thinking with a sudden stab of anxiety about the stark, sterile loneliness of the medbay. The Doctor glanced down, met your eyes briefly. Her lips were pressed together, her eyes still threatening an oncoming storm.

“You are so not making the decisions,” she said, shortly. You shut your eyes, anxiety creeping up your spine.

“Please, not there,” you whispered, turning your face into the Doctor’s shoulder. You hadn’t cried yet; you were not going to start, you were _not_. “Can’t… can’t wake up alone- there-” your words were muffled, but felt her arms twitch, then tighten around you. She blew out a breath.

“I’m not taking you back to the medical bay,” she said finally, and something had softened in her voice again.

“Hey? Why not?” you heard Graham ask.

“I’m taking her somewhere where she can actually be watched,” the Doctor said, some bite returning to her voice.

“Zing,” Ryan muttered, then “ow-” as, someone (presumably, Yaz) smacked him.

“So eager for your turn?” The Doctor asked him, ominously. “As if every one of you shouldn’t be ashamed- can’t keep tabs on one concussed human with a cracked rib- not like there were multiple entrances of the medbay to guard-”

“You weren’t there either,” Yaz pointed out, and the Doctor’s words cut off abruptly. You felt her stiffen, felt the slightest hitch in her steps.

“Zing,” Ryan muttered again, followed by another “ow! Stop _doing_ that-”

You drifted after that, and you didn’t know for how long. Perhaps only moments, perhaps much longer. Time and reality oozed back into some semblance of focus as the Doctor set you down on- not another sterile medbay table, no, this was soft, colourful, warm. A sofa? _Bed_. Not your bed; it was a room you wouldn’t recognize later, when you woke. Sparsely but eclectically decorated, it had the feeling of being both very old, and very unused.

“-didn’t know this was even here,” Ryan was saying.

“That’s what I’m saying! How many times have we been in the library, and we’ve never seen this room?” Graham added.

“It’s not always here,” the Doctor said, and her voice was very close, though you couldn’t see her, didn’t think perhaps your eyes were open. It was hard to tell. “I don’t think. The TARDIS made it easy for us to find, and use. I thought it’d take us to her room but-” she hesitated. “This should do.”

“Is this your room?” Yaz asked, almost hesitantly.

“S’pose it is,” the Doctor said after another pause. “I don’t use it much, mind.”

“Looks it,” Ryan said. There was a silence.

“I’ll stay with her first, then?” Graham’s voice, sounding conciliatory, almost defiantly so.

“No,” said the Doctor, though not unkindly. She sounded tired, suddenly. Anger did not come easily to her, did not sit well on her hearts, and it left damage in its wake. “No, I got this. You lot take a break.”

“Come on,” Yaz said, when Graham protested. “Let’s go.” She tugged Graham out of the doorway, and Ryan followed, hands in his pockets.

“Don’t touch anything on the console!” the Doctor called quickly after them, poking her head out the doorway. She stood there a moment, hands resting on her hips, before swinging around and moving back to the bed, back to you. You felt her adjust the blanket, then rest a slender finger on your throat, taking your pulse. You turned your head, your cheek resting against her hand. Her other hand settled on your head, brushed some hair out of your face.

“ ‘m sorry,” you mumbled drowsily, not sure what you were apologizing for, only that you felt it needed to be said. Her hand vanished from your neck, and instinctively you reached for it, a desperate gesture you hadn’t meant to make, too disjointed and slow to be of any effect. She caught your hand, however, folded it within her own.

“Not as sorry as you’re gonna be,” the Doctor countered, but there was more of a grim sort of humor in her voice than that terrible anger of before. “I’m thinking leashes, maybe, for all future outings. Approved planets only, no wandering off, all privileges revoked-” she abruptly cut off, took in a deep breath. You felt her grip on your hand tighten, then she set it back down on the bed, letting go. “You need to rest. I need time to- think. Maybe design a leash, or a homing beacon. Or a giant sign that says ‘FOOLISH HUMAN DO NOT APPROACH’ and you wear it around your neck.” You heard her move away, restlessly pacing the room.

You were losing the fight against sleep again, and every fiber of your being strained towards the need, the _compulsion_ to ask her to stay, to beg her to not leave you alone again in the dark. But you held the words behind your lips, smothered them and let them die a painful death in your heart.

The Doctor was not yours, not a person to cede to your every weak wish and fancy. She was wondrous, unique, devastating. And to guilt her into staying by your side, ask her to deny her nature… no. You loved her for who and what she was; you would not tarnish her by trying to claim a piece of her. So. You let your head fall back to the pillow, let your cheek rest where her hand had once been, and you slept.


	3. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having survived an alien attack and a confused trip through the TARDIS, you awake for the second time, finally not alone. The Doctor admits the real reason she’s been so upset, Yaz embarrasses everyone with her physical prowess, and entirely too many custard creams are consumed.

                                                                                      

* * *

  
You slept longer that time, and when you awoke you found that your head was much more clear. You still didn’t immediately understand where you were, and the confusing array of colours and seemingly source-less light failed to enlighten you. You pushed yourself upright with one arm, which was was when you realized that while your head was clear, your body was in more pain. A _lot more_.

_“Ah,”_ you hissed, inhaling hard through your nose. You held your breath, thinking that perhaps if you just didn’t breathe, if you just didn’t _move,_ the pain might be tricked into slinking away and into forgetting out you. But the pain was only beginning to sink its claws into you, and by your third breath you were no longer of the opinion that the word “ah” was adequate, no matter how savagely hissed.

Instead, you decided on an interesting alien word learned on a previous trip, one that had a suitably obscene feel to it and had made the Doctor wince when she’d heard it (something you and Ryan had both gleefully made a note of at the time). You repeated it carefully, and were distantly pleased with the way it hissed out of your clenched teeth.

“Oi!” The shocked voice rang out in the room, originating from somewhere behind and above you and making you jump. “Language! Who’ve you been hanging around- oh, no you don’t!”

The last words were punctuated with a thump as the Doctor leapt the final few rungs down a ladder set against the wall. Startled by her initial exclamation, you had hastily pushed back the blankets, and by the time the Doctor’s booted feet hit the floor you had lurched to your feet.

You then promptly repeated the offending alien word, as what felt like every single one of your traitorous ribs absolutely positively no-doubt-about-it shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. They might have burst into flame, too. You wobbled, red hazing your vision and stealing your breath. Then familiar arms wrapped around you, and guided you back down to the bed.

“Easy now,” the Doctor said, though you weren’t fighting her. “Easy, it’s me, just relax-”

“Hurts,” you said through gritted teeth, squeezing your eyes shut. You felt her push your shoulders, try make you lay back down, and you shook your head weakly. “Don’t- want to sleep. Don’t-” you hissed in another breath. “Just- _hurts_ -”

“Yes, I _know_ it hurts, that’s why you need to lay back down and stop moving,” the Doctor said, exasperated. She continued to ignore your protests and inevitably succeeded at pushing you back down on the bed, her hands still supporting you. “You don’t have to sleep,” she added, still exasperated. “Just stop leaping about- humans, honestly, the worst patients, stubborn little lifeforms wrapped in a stupidly fragile shell and do they ever listen to directions? Oh, no, why would they do that, that’d be _clever-_ ”

She was moving about as she verbally eviscerated your species, adding a pillow to the one already under your head so you could sit up more. She also adjusted the blankets back over your legs, though she left your torso uncovered. You realized you were still wrapped in her coat when she opened it, pulling the fabric to the side before matter-of-factly lifting and rolling up the hem of your shirt and revealing your stomach, a weird cast-looking sort of thing, and a mass of ugly discoloured bruises.

Instinctively you moved your hand and tried to cover the area of your side that was blazing with pain, and you weren’t sure why. You knew that you hurt, and that you wanted to hide that hurt away, because… because it was evidence of _weakness_. And if the Doctor was able to see your weakness, see you as something… less than you had tried to be, than you wanted to be… You were too exposed, too raw to contemplate the finer meanings of your emotions.

“None of that,” the Doctor said absently, deftly catching your hand with her own. She looked up as your hand twitched, met your worried eyes. “See what I mean? Terrible patient.” Her voice had softened, though, and she gently squeezed your hand before letting go. “I’m gonna give you something for the pain first, then we’re going to change the bandaging.” She stood up, then leveled a finger at you. “I will be _right back_ , and if you move one inch from this bed I will- I will-”

“Continue to lecture me on the various failings of humans?” you muttered tiredly before you could stop yourself. There was a startled moment of silence as you both looked at each other, and the Doctor’s eyebrows threatened to vanish into her hairline. Then her mouth twitched in what you were _sure_ was the start of a smile before she hastily pressed her lips together, face scrunching.

“Strap you to the bed, more like,” she threatened, darkly. “Should’ve done from the start… can double as a leash-” she stalked from the room, still muttering to herself. You huffed a quiet laugh despite yourself, then winced and placed a hand on your side.

With the Doctor gone the room was suddenly bleak, empty, and yet at the same time horribly claustrophobic. Your hands twitched with nervous energy, and you suppressed the instinctive desire to stand up, to move. Beyond the inevitable pain it would bring about, you weren’t entirely sure that the Doctor was joking about that leash. Her eyes still flickered with darkness, and that crease had yet to vanish from her brow. You did laboriously add another pillow to the pile behind your head and sit up straighter. It hurt to do so, but you felt immediately better. More in control, more confident… just, _more_.

The Doctor swept back into the room with an armful of supplies. Her bright eyes focused on you, narrowed. You looked back as innocently as you could manage given the gnawing pain and overwhelming relief at her return. It wasn’t that you had doubted that she would, not really, but just that every time she entered a room, every time your eyes met… life was better, was just, well… more.

“Cheat,” the Doctor said finally, and moved closer. She sat down on the side of the bed, dropped her supplies and rifled through them. She gave you an injection for the pain first, and the relief was a drug in and of itself. You felt muscles relax that you hadn’t even known you were clenching, and you let out a slow, uneven breath, eyes sliding closed.

“Oh, thank you,” you murmured faintly, eyes still shut. When you opened them, the Doctor was watching you, and her expression was so pained that you actually lifted your head in surprise.

“It’s okay,” you said, and weren’t entirely sure what you were referring to, only that you desperately wanted to wipe that haunted, terrible look off of her lovely face. But at your words the Doctor looked down, away, and you could see one of her hands fist on the blankets. Her eyes slid shut, and she looked suddenly so very much older.

“Doctor?” You ventured, true worry unfurling in your gut. She didn’t respond, and you reached for her hand, the one clenched into a tight fist. You tentatively brushed your thumb over it, and at that she finally looked up, met your eyes.

“Really, it’s okay,” you continued in a small voice. “It’s just a broken rib, right?” You hesitated when she just continued to stare at you, silent. Your anxiety increased, forcing words into your throat and past your lips. “I’m… I’m sorry I caused trouble out there, I didn’t mean to, I know you always say to be cautious and I know I messed up and you- and you had to fix it-” you swallowed. “But I don’t… I don’t want to stop traveling with you-” you broke off, your throat closing up. _I will not cry!_

The Doctor’s hand suddenly unclenched, twisted so that she was the one gripping your hand, and her fingers were warm as they threaded through your own. Her other hand lifted to your face, touched it lightly, so lightly. But she still looked so agonized, so diminished. So much _less_. She was still staring at you with those unfathomable eyes, and she took in a breath.

“I almost lost you,” she said, and her voice was ragged, the words torn from her and flung into the space between you. “You could have been so easily taken, or- or killed-” she broke off, breathed in sharply. Then with a sudden exhale she leaned forward and rested her forehead carefully against yours. You froze, though your heart was racing with anxiety and confusion and hope and oh, with her, with her, _with her_.

“It is _not_ okay,” she whispered fiercely, and you could feel her words brush across your skin. “What they did to you, how I reacted, how you keep _bloody_ apologizing-” she hitched in a broken breath. “I almost lost you,” she repeated, so softly you could barely hear her. But you could hear the pain, could feel it.

You didn’t think. You just reacted, reacted to the racing of your heart and the pain in the Doctor’s voice. You lifted your other hand, the one the Doctor wasn’t holding, and you touched her face, moving aside some of her hair. You had never dared to touch her so softly, so intimately, but how could you not, when she was breathing so brokenly? When she was touching _you_ so softly?

“I’m here, I’m fine,” you said. “Doctor, I’m fi-” you broke off, because the Doctor had lifted her head and fixed you with her eyes, and oh, those eyes, they carried starlight in their wake and you were falling into them, falling as they drew closer to you, closer and closer and then-

_and then-_

her lips were pressed gently (oh, so gently) against your face, and those eyes like galaxies had swallowed you, _consumed_ you.

“Not fine,” she whispered, her lips brushing the edge of your bruised eye. “Not fine,” she repeated, her lips moving down, finding another bruise. “Not fine,” she whispered, again and again, her lips tracing the path of violence across your face, and you couldn’t do anything but lay there, your skin blazing anew with each of her whispering touches because something in you was breaking, cracking, _releasing_.

“I- uh, I’m, fine,” you managed hoarsely when she paused, her lips so dangerously near to your own. “But if- you don’t… if you want to-” the Doctor made a low, almost amused sound and silenced your stammering with, finally, the touch of her lips against your own. It was gentle and restrained, mindful of your injuries, and for all that it still blazed through your veins, trembled with possibility and promise and, _oh-_

There was a sudden whistle from the other side of the room, and you and the Doctor both jumped, her head snapping around guiltily as she sat up. She didn’t let go of your hand, though.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account.” Yaz was leaning against the doorframe with an altogether too pleased look on her face, her words a lazy, delighted drawal. Neither you nor the Doctor immediately filled the silence, and Yaz’s grin deepened. The Doctor licked her lips, clearly struggling to decide how to gain control of the situation; you just put your free hand over your eyes as Yaz hollered over her shoulder, “Ryan! I was right, you owe me ten pounds!”

“You’re joking! They- really?” Graham’s voice, coming closer.

“No!” A groan from Ryan, also approaching.

“You lot are being very unprofessional,” the Doctor interjected loftily, or as loftily as one could in such a situation, which was to say not at all.

“Us?” Graham asked, poking his head around the corner. “ _We’re_ unprofessional? Aren’t you supposed to be her doctor? That’s gotta be a major ethics code violation, that has, honestly Doc-”

“I don’t think she’s even redone her bandaging yet,” Ryan said, gloomily handing Yaz her money. “Look, there, it fell on the floor.”

Graham tsked loudly and delightedly while you turned your face away, eyes still covered. Remembering that you still wore the Doctor’s coat, you moved your fingers around blindly until you found an edge of the hood, and then pulled it down over your eyes.

“You don’t get to hide if I don’t,” the Doctor muttered, tugging at the hood and revealing your face again. “Especially not in _my_ coat.”

“Plenty of room in here for both of us,” you countered, gesturing. You’d said it automatically, an attempt at conspiratorial humour. Team TARDIS however took the comment in an entirely different light, and their hoots and whistles filled the room again. You covered your eyes back up with a firm tug on the coat, cheeks blazing. But you couldn’t quite suppress the small smile that twitched your lips.

“Oh, really,” the Doctor was saying in exasperation. “You lot, make yourselves useful if you’re going to hang about, go on then. I think we could all do with a bit more tea and biscuits and a bit less carrying on-”

“You referring to us, or you?” Yaz asked, cheekily and to an appreciative snort from Ryan. “Only, if we’re talking about carrying on, then I’d say you’re far more invested-”

“If there is not a pot of tea and a plate of custard creams in this room within the next ten minutes,” the Doctor interrupted loudly, “I am finding the most dull, boring, mind-numbing sunday in the history of dull, boring, mind-numbing sundays and I’m dropping you all off there to rot.” She swept a stern look across the group, clearly of the opinion she’d just laid down a very harsh, no-nonsense ultimatum.

The team was unimpressed with this threat, but they trooped out and away towards the kitchens, still making all kinds of ruckus. Silence reasserted itself slowly in the bedroom, and eventually you peeked out from under the hood to find the Doctor watching you. She looked… unsure, perhaps, but the haunted, drawn look had receded from her face. She took in a breath.

“If you apologize to me,” you said quickly, “if you even try to apologize for what just happened, I will- I will-” you struggled to come up with a suitable threat, but you were still tired, in pain, flustered, delighted. It was a lot of things to feel at once, and when on top of all that the Doctor was looking at you so steadily, her eyes crinkling ever so slightly with what might have been a suppressed smile, well. You huffed out a breath, tried to scowl at her. Failed.

“No apologies,” the Doctor agreed finally, with a crooked smile. She leaned down, reaching to retrieve the fallen package from the floor, a move which brought her face close to yours again. Without thinking, you snaked out a hand and caught the edge of one of her suspenders. Startled, she turned to look at you, and before you could lose your nerve you tugged on the suspender, and then pressed your own lips against hers.

She made a muffled sound against your mouth, still startled, and didn’t move. You had just started to feel the first creeping tendrils of worry and self-consciousness, when the Doctor softened, leaned in to you. _Returned the kiss_. It was your turn to make a stifled sound, and your fingers tightened around the suspender as you tugged the Doctor closer, you needed her _closer,_ needed to fall into those eyes and that hair and those lips, you would drown of them. But it wasn’t drowning, it was the opposite, filling you with an expanding sense of right, this was right, this was what you had been missing your entire life and you could only just now realize it, could only now breathe truly, oh-

A sudden lance of pain, jarring and unwelcome. In your eagerness you had pressed too hard, asked too much of your abused, wounded face, and your split lip stretched painfully, threatening to tear. Only a little, but it was enough to make you flinch, enough to elicit a soft, involuntary sound of pain from your throat. Enough to make the Doctor pull away from you. She looked at your face, and the half-buried shadow of her anger and pain stirred dangerously in her eyes again.

“Worth it,” you said quickly, and were rewarded when the Doctor’s eyes snapped up to your own, the darkness receding from her gaze. It was replaced with surprise and a dash of annoyance, yes, but at least she didn’t look so _tragic,_ at least there wasn’t the echo of a storm moving under her skin anymore.

“Oh?” the Doctor asked, as you dropped your hold on her suspender to touch your lip gingerly, wincing. “It was, hm?” She sounded annoyed, flustered… worried. You lowered your hand, met her eyes squarely.

_“Yes,”_ you said simply, holding her gaze. Your heart was beating very fast, and you could feel a blush staining your cheeks, but you did not look away, did not break the contact. Sometimes, a situation was too important for anything less than full honesty, full commitment. The Doctor had taught you that; you would not flinch from the truth. Not here. The Doctor stared back at you, and again you saw her lick her lips, uncertain with how to proceed.

Then- oh, then-

The sun rose in her eyes, and the stars wheeled across her face as she smiled, as she smiled. It was a real smile, a true smile, one that lifted her entire face, that lit the entire room. Again you felt muscles relax that you hadn’t known you were clenching (or maybe just one muscle, maybe it was just your heart unclenching, releasing you) and you smiled back. Reached for her.

Another unwelcome lance of pain, this time in your neglected rib, and you winced, falling back against the pillows with a sound of annoyance. The Doctor shook her head and finally retrieved the bandaging off the floor.

“See? Terrible patient.” Her voice was brisk again, but she was still smiling. She finally set to changing the bandages around your broken rib (a weird, advanced material that adhered to your skin somehow and rapidly increased the healing process, or so she said) and she had just moved on to your lip when the rest of the gang paraded back into the room, tea and biscuits in hand.

Predictably, the resulting tableaux presented by the Doctor bent over your face and carefully dabbing at your lips (another weird material that encouraged torn flesh to mend back together) elicited another round of whistles and applause from the gang. The Doctor told them off, though the effect was somewhat diminished by the muffled way she said it around a custard cream, already reaching for a second.

You still didn’t much feel like eating, but you gratefully accepted a cup of tea from Graham. The rest of the team didn’t appear inclined to leave, and instead settled around the room. They seemed to take their cue from the Doctor’s more relaxed behavior (half-hearted scolding as she continued to consume biscuits, traces of a smile still lingering about her eyes and mouth) and they fell into cheerful conversation.

They were already beginning to think of the next adventure, and as a debate broke out between Ryan and Yaz on the merits of past versus future, and earth versus a new planet, you settled carefully against your pillows. The mattress dipped as the Doctor, having finally collected her own cup of tea (you’d long since lost track of her biscuit count, you were only human after all) sat down next to you.

Though she didn’t immediately look at you, having been drawn into the debate between Ryan and Yaz and thus busily contributing with her normal earnest enthusiasm, you still felt your heart flutter. It didn’t make sense (hadn’t you just been kissing, after all, and with most of your shirt off no less?) but something about the Doctor so comfortably settling into your space, her knee brushing against you as she folded her legs… it was just so intimate, so domestic. She almost spilled her tea as she made a particularly enthusiastic point, leaning forwards with her eyes shining, and, well. You took a hasty sip of your own tea to cover the ridiculous blush you felt creeping across your face.

The Doctor’s eyes slid briefly toward you, and again you felt your heart stutter as your gazes connected, felt a familiar thrill run down your spine. You also felt your lip twinge painfully as it curved into a smile, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care, because the Doctor had smiled back, and that smile was worth the stars themselves. She leaned over, closer to you.

“Feeling okay?” she asked you in a quieter voice, her bright eyes flickering over your face. “Are we being too loud? We can always go if you want-”

“No,” you interrupted, and you reached for her hand automatically. “Don’t go- any of you,” you added a touch sheepishly as you realized you and the Doctor now had the keen attention of the rest of the gang, who were eyeing your clasped hands with great interest (because the Doctor hadn’t pulled away, had indeed wrapped her fingers immediately around your own, as easily and automatically as breathing). “If you want, I mean. I- I like the company,” you finished, a bit lamely.

“Yeah, we can see that,” Graham muttered in an undertone to Ryan and Yaz, who grinned.

“Hmm,” was the Doctor’s only reply, continuing to scan your face. She was also still holding your hand. _Don’t go,_ you said again, but silently, with your eyes, with your clutching fingers. _Don’t leave me alone again in the dark._ The Doctor held your gaze a moment longer, then she nodded slowly, her eyes softening, and she squeezed your hand. She’d understood.

So they stayed, all of them, and they filled the room like sunlight with their banter and ideas and laughter. Mostly you listened, occasionally you participated. Eventually, you drifted. Not quite sleeping (you’d had more than enough of that in the past two days, thanks very much) but the presence of your friends allowed you to finally relax, truly and fully.

The Doctor of course did not stay tethered to the bed, too full of restless energy to ever remain seated for long. You enjoyed the moments where she leapt up and darted around the room, though. You enjoyed watching her when she absently drifted to the plate of biscuits (and when she left the room, then returned with a fresh plate), when she scaled the built-in ladder to find a particular book necessary to prove a point, when she stepped back quietly into the room after having checked the console, hands deep in her pockets and a smudge of grease on her cheek.

You enjoyed it, because she always came back to you, always drifted back to your side as if caught in a gravitational pull. Not always for long, she didn’t even always sit back down before she was winging away in a new trajectory, but it was enough; she moved in and out of your orbit like a blazing comet, and you in turn drifted comfortably, secure in the knowledge that the light would return again.

You perked up a while later when a discussion-turned-debate-turned-competition broke out in regards to, of all things, relative strength. Ryan started it, evidently still fixated on the Doctor’s apparent disproportionate strength. Yaz and the Doctor predictably had a few things to say in reply to _that,_ and before you really grasped that was happening, the team was assembling for an impromptu arm wrestling contest.

It took an embarrassingly short time for the Doctor to defeat them, one and all.

“I _really_ enjoyed that,” the Doctor confided to you in a low voice, sitting down on your bed again. Her hair was tousled, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and her mouth full with a victory biscuit. “Yaz almost had me for a minute there,” she added, furtive. She slumped back against the pillows next to you, watching with interest as Graham attempted to salvage his honor only to be beaten by Yaz, who seemed to be defending her runner-up title easily, if not humbly.

Your breathing had hitched (traitorous lungs!) when the Doctor lay back next to you, your heart stuttering painfully. The Doctor turned her head to look at you, strands of her hair brushing your face. You could count every freckle that dotted her cheek like so many stars, but your gaze was drawn unerringly instead into the constellations in her eyes. You stared at each other for a moment that lasted a heartbeat, an eternity. Echoes of triumphant laughter still lingered in the Doctor’s eyes, still curved the lines of her mouth. You weren’t sure what she read in your face.

You both spoke at the same time.

“I’m fine-”

“-want another biscuit?”

A moment of startled silence, then you both laughed. The Doctor closed the meager space between you, leaning her forehead against yours even as you reached for her hand. Her lips found yours again in a chaste, gentle kiss that nonetheless altered you down to your very core.

You knew this to be true because you could feel it, could feel your skin changing, blazing, your body shining like a celestial creation- and yet, when you took a breath (when you came up for air, surfaced from that glorious not-drowning) and glanced at your hand, it looked the same as ever.

Perhaps some of that blazing light had been shining from your eyes, however, because the Doctor was still looking at you as if you _were_ a celestial body, as if the breaking light of the universe did emanate from your gaze. You didn’t know what to do with that, didn’t know how to handle that regard, so you just leaned closer, surrendered to her gravitational pull, and fell into another kiss. The Doctor made a low sound against your mouth, a sound that shook you down to your very core again, a sound that you reciprocated without conscious choice.

The sound turned into a growl of mingled pain and frustration as your abused lip (and rib, when had you sat up, leaned over so eagerly into the Doctor?) protested the treatment, and you sat back against the pillows, touched your stinging lip with your hand.

“Oh, I have got to stop letting you do that,” the Doctor muttered, catching your hand and pulling it away so she could look at your lip herself. “Don’t touch it! Just leave it be.” Her face was scrunched in that way you loved so much as she considered your lip, tilting her head back and forth. You couldn’t help but smile, even as her eyes flicked up to yours, narrowed. “The worst patient,” she complained, but her scrunched face had relaxed. You considered making a pointed rebuttal in regards to her own conduct as a doctor, but she distracted you when she leaned over you to grab- yes, unbelievably, another biscuit- before slumping back against the pillows and crossing her ankles.

“They sure do carry on,” the Doctor observed around the custard cream, watching the continuingly evolving spectacle that was Team TARDIS. They’d moved on to pushups, and Yaz was still winning handedly while Graham kept official count and Ryan sweated.

The Doctor’s free hand was still laced comfortably through yours, and when she had leaned back against the pillows the mattress had dipped slightly, enough to shift your body and close the space between you and her. It was again somehow so much more intimate than kissing, and you had held yourself stiffly for a moment, unsure. This was such new, fragile territory, and you were afraid to misstep. But the Doctor settled the matter before you could decide, lifting your interlaced hands and wiggling so that your bodies fit more neatly together, so that your cheek rested against her shoulder. You made a soft sound, nestling your head more comfortably and delighting in the feel of her hair against your face, her shirt against your cheek, of… her. Just, her.

And eventually it turned out that you could sleep after all, because you weren’t alone: the team was still arguing cheerfully around you, their voices filling the room like so many lights, and the Doctor… The Doctor was still warm against you, with no apparent intention of releasing your hand or leaving your side. Though you expected to feel that painfully wonderful heart-stuttering thrill at the contact, instead you found yourself relaxing, softening against the comforting warmth of yes, the Doctor, of her, but also the voices of Yaz, Graham, Ryan. The team, the fam, all around you. They were all of them lights in the dark, and you were safe. You could sleep.

You were home.


End file.
